Helpless in a World That's Gone Insane
by Browncoats and Floral Bonnets
Summary: AU. Sam Fuller and Dean Hanson are detectives for the LAPD. After getting put on a case that hits a little too close to home, they find themselves looking for a dangerous killer-and the leader of a blood-thirsty cult, putting both their lives on the line in the process. Rating for language and violence throughout. Also a ton of major Dean whumpage.
1. Chapter 1

_The first thing Sam was aware of was the fact that he was tied up, his wrists bound tightly behind him, his ankles tied to the legs of the chair he was sitting in. Groaning, head pounding, he opened his eyes. The room was dark and murky, a single square of light coming into the room from a high, grimy window._

"'_the hell?" he muttered to himself. He looked around for any clue as to where he could be._

_The room was familiar, but his muddled mind couldn't make the connection._

_The metal door, the dark stains on the dirt ground, the holes in the wall that looked like they'd been put there by bullets. He knew this place well, if he could just remember…_

_It hit him like a freight train. _

"_No."_

"_You remember now," a voice said next to his ear, making him jump. A man materialized out of the darkness._

"_You," Sam snarled, nostrils flaring as he struggled against the ropes. "You son of a bitch."_

_The man pulled a knife from his belt and held it next to Sam's cheek._

"_Come on, Sammy boy. No need to be rude."_

_Sam's heart pounded against his ribcage, his breath coming fast and hard. "Don't call me Sammy," he said bitterly._

_The man drew his knife down Sam's face, the cut enough to make Sam draw in a sharp breath._

"_You're not still mad about that girl are you?" the man asked. "You know, grudges are bad for your health."_

"_I'm gonna be bad for your health," Sam spat._

_The man laughed. "Where did you hear _that_? _Die Hard_? Come on, I always thought of you as more original than that."_

"_Sorry to disappoint."_

_The man put the point of his knife to Sam's chest._

"_You wanna see her again, don't you? This is really what you want, isn't it? To be with her?"_

_Sam didn't reply. _

"_You should have heard her scream. She begged for her life. Right up to the end, when I-"_

"_You son of a bitch!" Sam screamed, struggling against his bonds. "I'm gonna kill you! I'm gonna kill you with my bare hands!"_

"_I don't think so," the man said calmly._

_Sam gritted his teeth as the man dug the knife into his skin, drawing blood._

_The man put his mouth next to Sam's ear. "This was always how it was going to end," he whispered, and pushed the knife into Sam's heart._

XXX

Sam sat up in bed, heart racing, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He breathed deeply, trying to get himself under control, and looked at the clock.

3:30.

That was an hour more sleep than he usually got.

Sighing, he pushed away the covers and swung his long legs over the side of his bed, putting his head in his hands. After a few minutes, he forced himself to get up and get going. He had work to do.

XXX

"Fuller!"

Sam looked up from his coffee to see the Chief of Police striding toward him.

"Yes, sir?"

"You seen Hanson yet?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You mean Dean's not here yet?"

"I wouldn't be asking you if he was."

Just then, the door burst open and Dean Hanson strolled in, a smirk on his face, his green eyes bright.

"Speak of the devil! Hanson, hurry your ass up and get over here. I've got a case for you," Chief Hardy barked.

"Sorry I'm late, sir. Got held up in traffic."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean used the same lame excuse he always did.

"We got a call this morning I want you to take a look at. Seems like your kinda case," Hardy said, and gave them the address.

Sam sat in the passenger seat like usual, Dean getting in after him.

"Hey."

Sam looked up. "Yeah?"

"What's the problem?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "No problem."

"There's a problem."

Sam was flabbergasted at how inept his partner could be with some things, and yet so in-tune with others. Like when Sam was bothered, for instance.

"Was it the dream again?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam nodded.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about? It won't make a difference. I thought it would get better once I caught the guy that killed Jess, but it didn't. It just makes it worse, knowing that he's sitting there in a jail cell, living and breathing while my fiancé is underground. Not a day goes by I don't think about marching in there and killing him myself."

Dean nodded his sympathy. "Yeah. I know how you feel. But trust me when I say vengeance is not the answer. My dad thought it was, and look where he is now. Locked up in a cell somewhere instead of the man that killed his wife. He called me once. Just once, to tell me he'd finally found the man that did it and that he'd gotten his revenge. We haven't talked since. I don't want that to be you."

Sam looked down. He knew Dean was right. "Did it make him feel better?" he asked.

Dean started the car. "He didn't say," he said, a trace of sadness in his face.

Sam put a hand on his shoulder and opened his mouth to say something, but Dean pushed him away and held up his hands.

"No chick flick moments, Sammy."

Sam punched his shoulder. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Sammy?"

Dean laughed. "Dude, you've been telling me that since we were in the Academy together. Now, what was that address again?"

XXX

Dean let out a low whistle. "Man. I thought I'd seen it all, but this…this takes the cake. What does it mean?"

Sam shrugged, examining the red scrawling on the wall. "You have as much of an idea as I do."

Dean turned to one of the other investigators. "Get a sample of the blood on the wall, find out if it belongs to our vic. Sam, why don't you and I go talk to the parents?"

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were sitting downstairs on the couch, Mrs. Taylor crying into her husband's shoulder.

"Mr. Taylor, I'm Detective Hanson, and this is Detective Fuller. We just have a few questions we need to ask," Dean said.

Mr. Taylor put his arm around his wife. "Anything we can do to help."

"Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt your daughter?"

"No. Chrissie is the sweetest, most loved girl you could imagine. I don't know why anyone would want to hurt her."

Mrs. Taylor let out a sob.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Taylor, I know how hard this is," Sam said sympathetically. "We're doing all we can to get your daughter back. Mr. Taylor do you or your wife have anyone that would want to hurt you through your daughter?"

"I'm a prosecutor, Detective, I've made a lot of enemies. If they wanted revenge why not come after me? Why go after my Chrissie? Do they want ransom? Oh, my poor little girl." Mr. Taylor buried his head in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Taylor. Look, we've got our best people on this case, and we will do our damndest to get your daughter back," Dean said, trying his best to be reassuring, but knowing noting he could say would be much help.

Sam gave Mr. Taylor a pat on the shoulder. "Look, Mr. Taylor. If you can think of anything that could be relevant, anything at all, give us a call, okay? We'll keep you informed on the investigation."

Mr. Taylor thanked him tearfully, then showed him and Dean out the door.

"We need to find out what the hell that symbol is," Dean said as they walked back to the car.

"I'm on it," Sam answered.

"Yeah, you were always the nerd, weren't you?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean retorted.

XXX

Sam grabbed his eighth cup of coffee and returned to his computer. He'd been searching the web for hours, after visiting the library and even contacting a few professors at a nearby college to see if they knew anything about the symbol. So far, no luck. He was beginning to think it was meaningless, a sort of tag like graffiti artists used. He was scrolling through when something caught his eye. He clicked on the picture and enlarged it.

His heart pounded. That was it. That was the symbol. He quickly went to the website and read the article.

"Holy crap," he breathed, picking up his cell phone and dialing Dean's number.

A muffled and very miffed voice answered the phone. "What the hell, Sam? It's four in the morning! Someone better be dying."

"I found the symbol, Dean!"

There was a pause. Then, "And this couldn't wait until morning _why_ exactly?"

"Well, I guess it could wait, but I found it and I just thought you'd want to know what it is because-"

"Sam!" Dean interrupted. "Slow down! How much coffee have you _had_?"

"Eight cups. Anyway, get this: the exact same symbol turned up at several crime scenes in the fifties. It's the symbol for this cult that did ritualistic killings until it got shut down and all of its members got thrown in prison. Looks like someone is starting it up again. Dean, we've got to find that girl."

"Alright, just give me a few hours to become a functional person, and I'll be there," Dean answered blearily.

"Good. That's good. Okay, I'm gonna go now, see if I can learn more about this cult so we can have some idea of what we're going up against," Sam said, then hung up. He had a lot of work to do.

XXX


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was at the station bright and early, just as he promised. Sam was waiting for him, legs bouncing from all the caffeine he'd had.

"What?" Dean asked. Sam looked like he was going to be sick.

"Just got a call from Chief Hardy. Some dock workers found Chrissie's body."

Dean sighed and put his head in his hand. "Son of a bitch. Did someone tell the family?"

Sam nodded. "They I.D'ed the body. We should probably take a look."

"Yeah. Call down to McCallum, tell him we're coming."

"Already did. Come on."

Dean followed Sam to the elevator. He'd been on the job for years now, and he'd seen a lot of crap. But there was something about this one that shook him to his very core. He took slow, deep breaths on the way down, steeling himself for what he was going to have to face.

Doctor McCallum was waiting for them. "Detectives," he greeted them, giving them a small nod. "This way."

Dean looked down at the girl's still body, covered in carvings. Symbols scratched into her skin. A stab wound in her chest.

"What is it that killed her?" Dean asked.

"Knife to the heart. Though, if they'd left her much longer, she likely would have bled out."

Dean shook his head in disgust.

"Hey. You okay?" Sam asked.

"Fine," Dean grunted. "We should go talk to the dock workers."

Sam was examining the markings, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed the way they did when he was thinking. "Okay. Give me twenty minutes."

Dean nodded. "I'll be in the car."

Once on the elevator, he couldn't stop a tear rolling down his cheek. He quickly wiped his eyes and composed himself. He hadn't felt like this since he first became a detective, and he wasn't sure exactly what it was about this case that was making him feel this way. What he did know, though, was that this was gonna be a tough one.

XXX

Dean waited patiently in the squad car, 'Ramble On' blasting through the speakers, singing along shamelessly loudly. Sam opened the passenger door and grimaced as he ducked into the car.

"Dude, seriously?" he shouted.

Dean turned it down a little. "What seems to be the problem, officer?" he asked innocently, batting his eyelashes.

"Okay, you know what? That got old the first eight times you said it," Sam said sourly. Dean shrugged.

"I still think it's hilarious." Dean grinned.

Sam jabbed the power button on the radio and stared at him in unbelief, the look on his face almost scornful.

"…What?" Dean asked.

"You are unbelievable," Sam said, shaking his head. "We just saw that girl, dead, _mutilated_, and now you're sitting here making jokes? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Dean bit back his anger. "Look, Sam. You deal how you deal, and I deal how I deal. This kind of thing affects me just as much as it does you. But I deal by keeping my mind from dwelling in dark places. If I were to sit here and only think about the job, the cases, the people-it would drive me insane. Get it?"

Sam didn't answer. Silence filled the space between them, until he finally cleared his throat and said, "There was skin under her nails. They're testing it now. We may be able to I.D whoever is behind this."

"Good. That's-that's good," Dean answered awkwardly. "We should probably go talk to the guys that found her body."

"Uh, yeah," Sam replied. "Er..sorry I snapped at you like that."

Dean shrugged, starting the car. "It's fine." He turned the radio back on, AC/DC filling up the awkward silence as they drove to the dock.

XXX

"Sir, can you tell me exactly what happened?" Sam asked.

"Sure. I came to work, I got out of my car, I walked down to the dock, and she was just there-" The worker gestured to an area of the dock that was surrounded by caution tape- "spread-eagled on the ground, her eyes wide open. It's sick-whoever dumper her took the time to lay her out like that. That's all I can give you, unless you have any other questions."

Sam shook his head. "No other questions. Thank you for your cooperation. If you see any strange activity, call."

The worker nodded. "Glad I could help."

Dean sighed. "That didn't help much," he grumbled to Sam as they made their way back to the car. Just then, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out. "Sam! They got in ID and they're sending us the information now."

The suspect's work address popped up and the two detectives scrambled into the car.

XXX

Dean looked down at the picture, then returned his gaze to the man before them. "It's definitely him," he said. He grabbed his radio. "We've got eyes on the suspect."

They got out of the car, guns drawn, and approached the man. His name was Jeremy Winters, a young man of twenty five who didn't look like he could hurt a fly, much less brutally murder someone. But the inflamed scratches on his arm had to have come from Chrissie. Sometimes people surprised you. He looked up and saw them, tensing.

"Freeze!" Dean shouted. "Don't move! Put your hands over your head!"

Winters, surprisingly, did as he was told. Sam pulled out his cuffs. "Mister Winters, you're under arrest for the murder of Chrissie Taylor."

Winters winced. "Wait!" he cried as Sam grabbed his wrist. "Wait. I didn't do it alone. I'm meeting someone here, one of the other. Why do you think I'm not at work? If I don't turn up, he'll know something is up and he'll disappear. Then you'll never get him."

Sam glanced at Dean, who gave a slight shake of his head. Sam nodded, yanking Winters' arms behind him and clapping on the handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent-"

"Did you not hear what I just said? He'll disappear and you will never find him!" Winters insisted.

A gunshot cut off his words, and he fell to the ground, a bullet in his forehead. Sam and Dean took cover, Dean grabbing his radio.

"We've got shots fired!" he yelled. "Winters is dead!" He peered over the concrete wall he'd ducked behind. There weren't any more shots. "Come on," he said, grabbing Sam's arm. "We have to find the shooter."

"Shouldn't we wait for backup?" he asked.

"He'll be gone by then!"

They ran to the building where the shot had come from, crashing up the stairs to the roof.

All the was left were some marks where the mount had been.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cried, kicking the lip of the roof. He turned to Sam. "You know that case you were telling me about, back in the 50s?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"We're gonna get every scrap of information we can on whatever the hell that was and we are going to bring these sick sons of bitches down. I swear to you I am not going to stop until everyone involved is sitting in a nice prison cell. Let's go."

XXX

**Sorry guys. It took a long time to get up a short chapter. I'm sure you know how it is-sometimes life just gets in the way. I promise I'll do my best to get up the next chapter soon! Hang in there!  
R&R is awesome and greatly appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

Sam took down the box, surprised at how heavy it was. He sneezed as he breathed in dust. There was a thick layer covering the lid, evidence of just how long it had been since anyone had bothered to look over the old files. He heaved the box out of the file room and to an empty conference room. Sighing, he took a sip of his coffee and started reading through the paperwork, searching for something-anything-that could give him some clue as to what it was he and Dean were up against.

"Dean! Get in here! You need to see this!" he called. He waited a minute, but Dean didn't come. He sighed and looked up from his paper, then grabbed his phone, sending off a quick text.

It wasn't long before Dean was in the room. "Where's the pie?" he asked.

Sam held back a smile. "There's not actually any pie. I just wanted you to come in here and that was the only way I could think to get you to come."

Dean glowered at him. "Bitch."

"Whatever, jerk. Just listen. I dug up the records form that case back in '58. Look. It's the same symbol exactly. It's the insignia of this cult. They did the first killing a week and a half before the full moon, the second one a few days later, and they were caught before they could kill the last victim. Apparently they believed that once they killed the third person on the night of the full moon, he would rise again. As the devil."

"Do people actually believe that crap? Makes me sick. How many days you think we have until they take their next vic?"

"Boys!" Hardy called, sticking his head into the room. "We need you. Now."

Sam looked over at Dean. "Based on that, I'm guessing none."

XXX

"Look, buddy. When the cops arrived at your house, you were standing in the middle of the room with blood on your hands and a bloody knife in your hand. It's not looking too good for you there. Just tell us who else is in the cult, and we can see about cutting you a deal," Sam said calmly, Dean pacing behind him.

Smith looked at him in bewilderment, his eyes red from crying. "Cult? What the hell are you talking about? You think I'm actually _involved_? You think I cut on my own girlfriend in my own house and then let a bunch of crazy people driver her off in a van?" He broke down into tears again. Dean rolled his eyes. "She was the love of my life. I can't believe this is happening…"

Sam stiffened. Suddenly, he was back there.

"_I'm so sorry, Sam. I'm so, so sorry. But we've got a pretty good idea who did it, and we're going to find him."_

"Sam!"

Sam jumped. Dean was staring at him, his face a mix of frustration and concern. Sam cleared his throat.

"C'mere," Dean said, taking him out of the interrogation room and into the hall.

"Look, are you up to this?" he asked in a low voice. "Because if you aren't, if this is hitting too close to home-"

"I'm fine Dean," Sam muttered, looking at the ground.

"Sammy," Dean said, and Sam looked him in the eye.

"I am fine," he insisted.

"Okay. Let's get back in there."

Smith was wringing his hands, legs bouncing, and his head shot up when they walked in.

"I can prove it!" he blurted before either detective had a chance to say anything. "I got the whole thing on video."

Dean frowned. "You _what_?"

"On my laptop, man. The whole thing. It'll prove that I didn't hurt Mindy, and maybe it'll help you find the sons of bitches that took her."

"What were you recording?" Sam asked.

Dean and Smith both looked at him, Smith's face getting a little red.

"Um, well…you know…_you know_…"

Sam suddenly realized what he meant, and flushed with embarrassment. "Oh. Geez. That's…oh."

Dean snorted, then turned to Smith. "Wouldn't out investigators have already found something?"

Smith shook his head. "No, no I highly doubt it. That laptop is Fort Knox. Bring it in here and I'll show you."

"You tell us what happened first," Sam said.

Smith nodded. "Well, Mindy and I were going to…but I kind of chickened out so I went in the bathroom to, you know, prepare myself emotionally and mentally. And while I was in there, I heard a car pull up and people come into the house. I came out, and three guys were already in the room. Mindy was unconscious and had blood running down both her arms and the last thing I saw was her limp in that guy's arms, and then someone hit me in the back of the head. When I came to, they were gone, and there was nothing left except for the bloody symbol on the wall and the knife." He was getting choked up again and he stopped. "Do you-do you think there's a chance she's still alive?" he whispered, before dissolving into tears.

"I'll go get the laptop," Dean said, deciding to let Sam deal with the crying man.

Sam glared at him, but Dean just shrugged.

Sam sighed and stood awkwardly for a second before saying, "I know what you're going through. My fiancé." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. It was a pretty well-known story. "But that's not gonna happen to Mindy. We'll find her. And whatever you have on that laptop is going to be a huge help. The men that did this are going to go down for it, we'll make sure of that."

Dean walked in, the laptop in his hands. "Here ya go," he said, setting it down in front of Smith. "Do your thing."

Smith nodded and opened it up, typing furiously for a moment before pulling up the video. "Watch."

Dean leaned over the table, watching the screen. "We need to get this to Eric in tech. He can clean it up, and we can get an APB out on these guys." He turned to Smith. "Look, there's gonna be another officer here who's gonna be asking you some other questions. Thanks so much for your patience and your help. Oh, and here." He took the handcuffs off of Smith's wrists. "You're not a person of interest anymore. You've been advanced to witness."

XXX

"Anything?" Dean asked Eric for the third time that afternoon.

"It's not that easy," Eric said, a little impatiently. "I'm doing the best I can. I think I'm almost…there! We've got a match on one of them, and I'm getting his info now!" He watched as things popped up on the screen in fast succession, eyes widening. "Holy shit. This guy has a serious rap sheet. Dean, this guy is bad news. I'm forwarding this to yours and Sam's phones."

"Eric! I knew you'd pull through for me!" Dean cried, hitting the back of his chair and leaving the room with a whoop.

Sam was already coming down the hall, scrolling through his phone. "Dean, that girl doesn't have much time. We've got to move now."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Let's get a team and go over to the house. I doubt he's home, but we may be able to find something there."

XXX

Dean knocked on the door, the team of cops ready behind him with Kevlar on and guns out. There was no sound from in the house.

"Alright, let's do this."

They busted the door down and burst into the house, spreading out through the rooms, shouts of "Clear!" echoing from all over.

And then, a panicked cry: "Hanson!"

Dean and Sam rushed to where the shout had come from. Riggs, a rookie cop, was standing in the doorway of the garage.

Mindy was hanging from the rafters, the same symbols covering her skin that had been on Chrissie's body, and a stab wound in her chest. Blood dripped onto a puddle under her. There was a note on the ground.

"No," Dean breathed. Sam bent and picked up the note.

"'_Lucifer is rising_,'" he read aloud. "It has the symbol on the bottom."

"Son of a bitch. They knew we were coming," Dean muttered. "We've got to figure this out before the third victim is killed."

"How?"

"However we need to. This guy's a damn cocky son of a bitch, and that's what's gonna bring him down."

XXX

Chief Hardy came into the room. "You boys have been here for hours. It's almost midnight. You've had a long, rough day. Go home and get some sleep. That's an order."

Sam and Dean looked up, both obviously wanting to argue.

"No," Hardy said before they had the chance. "Go."

They finally relented.

"We'll get 'im tomorrow, Sam," Dean said tiredly as they walked out into the parking lot.

XXX

Sam looked over at his phone, puzzled as to who would be calling at three in the morning. It was Dean.

"Dean? You okay?"

"I can't sleep, Sammy. This case has got me all screwed up. I figured you're pretty used to this crap and I was thinking maybe you could come over for a beer or two. And to, you know…talk."

Sam frowned. "You wanna _talk_?"

"Well, yeah. And have beer."

"At three in the morning?"

"Sam, please," Dean said, and Sam heard a note of desperation in his voice that he'd never heard in all their years working together.

"Fine. I'll be right over."

He drove to his partner's house and walked up onto the porch, bracing himself to find Dean passed out drunk on the couch. He knocked on the door, only to find that it wasn't all the way shut. It swung open. The TV was on in another room, playing a rerun of _Friends_, but other than that the house was still.

"Dean?" Sam called. No answer.

So he was definitely going to find Dean passed out drunk on the couch.

He walked into the living room, but other than a few empty beer bottles and an issue of _Busty Asian Beauties_, there was no sign of Dean.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he walked toward the back of the house where Dean's bedroom was. He pushed the door open and froze and stared at the wall.

"Dean."

There were four days until the full moon.

XXX

**Again, huge break. Sorry! School's nearly out, and I should be able to upload stuff faster then. Also, I am addicted to Spider Solitaire, and I get distracted. I'm so sorry. **

**R&R pretty please!**


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing he became aware of was the smell, of blood and candle smoke and mustiness. Then, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. There was something covering his eyes. And he was cold. (Where the hell was his shirt?) Pain. His arms were aching, his wrists raw from the ropes tying him with his feet dangling above the ground. His head throbbed, making it hard for him to think. He tried to recall the events that may have led him to be hanging here in God-knows-where with God-knows-who for God-knows-why.

He remembered making a phone call, then walking to his room to change…And then the men had ambushed him. He'd fought, but it was four on one and he hadn't stood a chance. One of them had slashed his arm…Oh.

Looked like he'd gotten close to the freaky cult.

"You're awake."

Dean struggled a little, but there wasn't much he could do. "I'm gonna kill you," he growled.

The man laughed a little. "Maybe. But not now. Do you know why you're here, Mister Hanson?"

"Because you're a crazy son of a bitch?"

The man grabbed his face, putting the point of his knife against Dean's cheek.

"Watch your mouth, Dean. Or I'll cut your tongue out. Now. Whaddya say we get started, huh?"

Dean broke into a cold sweat, despite his efforts to keep himself calm. He'd been a detective for six years now, and seen some pretty terrible stuff. But being on the receiving end of things…that was a whole new level of terrifying.

The man chuckled. "You nervous? Don't be. It's an honor. Anyone here would trade places with you in a heartbeat."

"You know, that's not a bad idea. Maybe you should have a raffle or something, choose someone else to be sacrificed to Satan."

"That's not how this works."

"How does it work, then? You just pick people off the street at random?"

"No, no!" the man said. "Not _random_. Judas tells us who to take. He's already in communication with Lucifer."

Dean sighed inwardly. _Crazy bastard_. "Judas, huh? Like the guy that betrayed Jesus. How poetic. How many of you are there, anyway?"

"Not many, I'm afraid. But that's going to change very soon. Once Lucifer is here, he will help us to restore order to this chaotic rock we call home. People will see his power and they will obey him and Lucifer will be grateful to us for bringing him back and we will rule with him, side by side."

"And by Lucifer you mean…his demonic self in my body? Well, that sounds just peachy. Hey, I'll tell you what. Why don't you introduce me to this Judas guy, huh? I just wanna chat with him, maybe get an idea of what makes him think I deserve such an honor," Dean said.

The man sighed. "I'm afraid that's impossible, Dean."

"Aw, come on. Why don't you just ask him?"

"Well, I could. But he's in prison."

Dean's blood ran cold. Someone was running this thing from prison. The cult had somehow known they were gonna be at the crime scene the other day, they knew when Dean was gonna be home…someone in the precinct was dirty. That was bad news, for everyone.

"That's enough talk, Dean. It's high time we get started."

Dean's heart started pounding against his ribcage. "Don't touch me you son of a bi-" His words were cut off by a cry of pain as the man dug the knife into his shoulder. He gasped in pain, hot blood rolling down his body.

He hoped like hell that Sammy would find him soon.

XXX

Sam was frantic. He had 40 hours left to find Dean before the unthinkable happened, and they'd already done God-knows what to him. He had read and reread the files, searching for some clue as to who was involved. There had been no hits on the APB, no reports from anyone reporting suspicious activity-nothing. He was starting to feel a bit hopeless when a thought occurred to him

"Hey," he said to the two other detectives that had been assigned to the case. "Whoever it is that's behind all of this had to have had some prior knowledge of the cult, right? Look at all the people that were arrested and see if you can find any relatives that could be involved."

They nodded. Sam looked at the list of criminals and started searching the database.

Awhile had passed with very little luck until-

"Uh, Fuller?" Detective Bryant called. "You're gonna wanna see this. One of them had in illegitimate son, and, well, you're not gonna believe it…"

Sam was behind him in an instant, leaning over him to look at the computer screen. The air rushed from his lungs as he stared at the picture there.

"Shit," he muttered, turning on his heel.

"Where are you going?" Bryant called after him.

"I'm gonna talk to him!"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Bryant asked worriedly.

Sam ignored him. Because the answer was no, and he knew it, but he wasn't about to turn this over to someone else. It was his fight to fight. It was personal.

XXX

"Ah. Detective Samuel Fuller. I wondered when we were going to cross paths again. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Shut up, Frank. Before I kill you with my bare hands."

Frank smirked. "Oh, come on now. You wouldn't do that. You can't touch me."

Sam stood up and walked around the metal table to which Frank was handcuffed and punched him square in the jaw. "You wanna test me? Huh? You have no idea the lengths I will go to to make you talk."

Frank watched him coldly. "And what, you think all your friends are just gonna let you-"

Sam nodded with a small mirthless smile. "Yeah, Frank, given the history between us and the fact that the life of one of ours is on the line, I'm gonna have to say yes they will. Now are you gonna tell me where Dean is or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?"

Frank cocked his head to the side. "Dean? Hanson? The cocky partner of yours? Now what the hell makes you think I would know anything about him?"

Sam slammed his fist on the table. "Don't play games with me, Frank! I can see straight through your bullshit! I know you know about the cult! I know you've somehow revived it from here in your cell! I just should've seen it sooner. Your followers know you don't really believe in that raising the devil crap? That they're just helping you to carry on what you did before I caught you? Huh? Tell me where he is _right now_ or I swear to God I will kill you with my bare hands."

Frank watched him. "I don't think I'm gonna tell you, Sammy boy. I kind of enjoy hearing about you and your friends running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It's not like before-I was sloppy before. I should've known then not to mess around with the fiancé of one of LA's top rookie detectives. I can't say I regret it though, she was-"

"Close your mouth!" Sam screamed, punching Frank in the face, then pulling back and hitting him again and again, blind in his red hot anger, unable to stop, not wanting to stop, his fist from going into the monster's face over and over.

"You think you can take everyone I love from me? You think that's gonna happen again, you son of a bitch?"

He didn't even hear when the door burst open and Detective Bryant yelled at him to stop.

He fought against the hands that dragged him off of the bleeding man, until the fight left him and he found himself sitting on the floor trembling, his knuckles split and bleeding, trembling with anger and excess adrenaline.

Frank was taken out on a stretcher.

Bryant reached a hand down to Sam to help him up. Sam accepted, getting to his feet.

"We looked at his visitors list, Sam. There's this one guy, Chris something, with a history of violence. We pulled his address and I had Cooper do a quick drive-by and there's a black van parked outside. Some neighbors of the previous vics remembered seeing an unfamiliar black van. I came to tell you."

Sam looked up at him. "We found him?"

Bryant nodded. "We think so."

"We have to go. Get a team together. We're going in as soon as possible," Sam said, already heading out.

Chief Hardy was waiting for him.

"Crap," Sam muttered under his breath. "Chief, look, I'm sorry, I couldn't stop-"

Hardy held up a hand. "We'll talk about that later. Right now, I want you to go out there and bring us back our man."

Sam nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Chief."

XXX

Dean's throat was dry and sore from screaming, his arms and shoulders burning, his whole body hurting and slick and warm with blood. He felt weak and dizzy from blood loss and exhaustion. He felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness. When he was able to form a full coherent thought, his thoughts floated between hope that someone would come to save him and the nagging fear that he was going to die of blood-loss here hanging from the ceiling or else be stabbed through the heart. The other times, he found himself musing on what it was going to be like housing the Devil.

XXX

**Sorry. I am really so sorry it took me so long, but I had myself in quite a rut. And then I suddenly was hit by a wave of inspiration. The next chapter will (hopefully) not take nearly as long to go up. Cut me some slack, though, I'm a busy (and easily distracted) individual.**


	5. Chapter 5

"Police, open up!" Sam pounded on the door again. He looked back at the team behind him and nodded and kicked in the door and they all poured in, guns out.

Sam, flanked by two other officers, found him in his media room watching some action flick with the volume blasting. He looked up and Sam grabbed him by the front of the shirt and slammed him against the wall.

"Where's Dean?" Sam shouted. Still holding the man against the wall, he grabbed the remote and turned off the television. "Where is he, damn it?"

He punched the guy in the mouth and Bryant pulled him off.

"Hey, Fuller! That's enough! Get out of here and find Dean. We've got this." Bryant said, pushing him toward the door.

Sam wanted to argue, anger coursing through his veins, the desire to go beat the shit out of that guy raw and burning. But Bryant was giving him that look, and the other officer was telling the guy his Miranda rights (the main point being 'You have the right to remain silent'. Bitch.). So he gave Bryant a nod and moved toward the back of the house.

"Fuller! Sir! Over here!" someone called.

"What is it, Sherman?" Sam asked, following him.

"Just found a door that looks like it leads down to a basement," Sherman answered, nodding toward a door.

Sam took a deep breath. "Let's go."

The stairs creaked loudly as he walked down.

"There a light switch up there?" he called quietly.

"Uh, doesn't look like it, sir. Maybe it's at the bottom of the stairs."

Sam took the flashlight from his duty belt and flicked it on, shining the beam in front of him. He reached the bottom of the steps and looked for the switch.

"Found it," he told Sherman. He hit the switch, but nothing happened. "And it doesn't work. Damn."

His heart quickened as he saw the edge of the symbol on the floor, burnt out candles surrounding it. He walked slowly forward, following it with the beam of his flashlight. It was big, and going toward the far wall…

He looked up. Sherman made a startled noise behind him.

"Holy hell," Sam breathed, putting his gun in its holster and handing his flashlight to Sherman. "Hold this."

Dean was hanging from the rafters, just like Mindy had been, and his torso was shiny and slick with blood, a blindfold tied over his eyes. A thin trickle of red came from the corner of his mouth.

He was deathly still.

Sam put two trembling fingers to Dean's neck, feeling for a pulse, not hearing what Sherman was yelling into his radio. Everything else seemed to fade away as he searched desperately for some sign of life.

_There_.

His pulse was a little erratic, but it was there.

Sam, able to breathe again, reached up and began untying the blindfold when Dean stirred a little.

"N…no…please. Stop," Dean muttered, trying to shift away from Sam's touch.

"It's me, Dean. It's Sam. I'm gonna take the blindfold off and then I'm gonna get you down, okay?" Sam said, fingers slipping as he tried to undo the knot. Finally giving up, he just pulled it down from Dean's eyes. They were dim and unfocused. Sam took Dean's face in his hands. "Hey, Dean. Come on. Come back to me."

Dean frowned, confused, searching Sam's face. Then, a flicker of recognition. Realization.

"S'mmy?" Dean grinned crookedly. "Knew you'd fin' me. M' arms hurt like a bitch."

Sam almost laughed as relief flooded over him. "Stop whining. Paramedics will be here soon and they'll fix you up and you'll be fine in no time," he answered, noting with concern how sweaty and pale his partner was becoming.

"Sherman," Sam said, remembering him for the first time since he'd found Dean. "We need to get him down."

"What do you need me to do?" Sherman asked.

"Do you have a multi-tool in your duty belt?"

"Yessir. I'm on it," Sherman said, twisting around to take it out of its pouch.

Dean coughed a little. "You wanna hurry up, Rookie?" he murmured. Sherman rolled his eyes as he sawed at the ropes.

Sam did laugh this time. Despite everything, Dean was still as snarky as ever. He placed himself at Dean's side, gingerly putting an arm around his middle.

Dean winced. "What're you doin'?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"You've lost a hell of a lot of blood, Dean. You're weak, and I don't want you to just collapse in a heap when Sherman cuts you down," Sam said. "Speaking of which, Sherman, what's taking so long."

"If you'll just be patient, sir, almost…there!" he replied.

The rope broke and Sam caught Dean as he fell, his knees nearly buckling under the sudden weight. Dean let out a cry of pain, making Sam wince.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," Sam cried.

Dean smiled weakly. "'m okay. 'm glad you…came…" Dean fell silent.

"Dean? You doin' okay?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't answer. His head lolled forward and he became dead-weight.

"Shit!" Sam cried, lowering him to the ground as gracefully as he could manage. "Where the _hell_ is that ambulance?"

"Almost here," Sherman answered.

Dean's skin was pale, almost grey under the blood. Sam picked up his wrist to feel his pulse. The skin beneath his fingers was cool and clammy, the pulse shallow and fast. He looked up at Sherman.

"We should probably try and get him upstairs. Help me out, would you?"

Soon, they were making their way carefully up the steps, the limp Dean supported precariously between them. By the time they got him upstairs, the paramedics were there.

"Lay him down over here on the stretcher," one of the paramedics commanded. "Carefully, that's it! Good." He started talking to the other paramedic. "We need to get him on oxygen and an IV…"

The ambulance sped away, sirens blaring. Sam watched it go, then looked down at his hands that were covered in the blood of his partner and best friend and brother.

XXX

"You're been here for hours, Fuller. Go home. Take a shower. Get some sleep."

Sam shook his head. "With all due respect, Chief-no. I'm staying right here until he wakes up."

"Sam. Come on," Hardy said gently.

"No, sir. I am not leaving his side. He helped me through the most difficult, painful time of my life. The least I can do is be here for him now," Sam answered, having to work to keep his voice from cracking with emotion.

"Well, do you at least want me to bring you a coffee?" Hardy asked, deciding it wasn't worth fighting a fight he would surely lose.

"Yeah. Thanks," Sam said gratefully. Hardy nodded and left. Sam watched the monitors, the rhythmic motion of the thin line on the LCD.

When Hardy came back a few minutes later with a cup of coffee for him, Sam was asleep in the plastic chair. Hardy shook his head with a sigh, setting the coffee on the windowsill. Poor kid was exhausted. He hadn't even gone home to change, drawing worried glances from several nurses who thought the blood was his. It was the kind of loyalty Hardy had seen only a few times in his career, and in his opinion it was something there should be more of.

XXX

"Whoa, Sammy. You look like hell."

Sam jerked awake. Dean smirked.

"Dean! How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Holy crap, I never thought I'd say this, but _man_ it's good to hear the sound of your voice!" Sam said all at once.

Dean grinned at him. "Aw, you mean you missed me? Well, I'm flattered, really. You know, I could do with a big ol' piece of pie right now."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I don't know if your doctors would let you get away with that."

"Then why did you even ask? Man, you're such a bitch."

"Well, you're a jerk. Really, Dean, how are you feeling?"

Dean sighed. "Besides sore and tired? Uh…" He took a deep breath. "I dunno, Sam. To be completely honest, I'm…" He stopped, stared hard at the ground, tears threatening to fall.

"…Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean cleared his throat. "I, uh-I thought I was going to die down there. I've never been afraid to die, but…" He stopped again, shaking his head.

"I know," Sam said, instinctively reaching out to take Dean's hand in the hopes of offering some sort of comfort. He winced, bracing himself to get mocked.

But Dean didn't pull away. Sam looked up, surprised to see tears glistening on his partner's face.

"I, uh…maybe I'll try talking to you over drinks once I'm out of here," Dean sniffled.

"Yeah. That'd be just fine," Sam answered. _As long as it goes better than last time we were gonna have a beer together._

Dean let out a shaky sigh, wiping his eyes. "Don't tell anyone about this or I'll kill you," he grumbled.

Sam felt the corner of his mouth twitch up. Maybe he was a little shaken up and maybe even a little bit broken, but he was Dean and he would get better because that was what he did.

XXX

**R&R! Please! I will, like, write you a poem or something if you do. **

**Also, bonus points for anyone who noticed the names of the characters and can name the three cop shows referenced!**


	6. Chapter 6

Dean sat stiffly in the padded chair in the lobby. The girl at the desk kept sneaking glances at him from behind her computer, blushing and looking quickly away whenever he caught her at it. He winked at her, and the color of her face became so dramatically red, for a moment Dean almost thought she was having a medical emergency.

Feeling slightly guilty at having embarrassed her like that, Dean picked up the nearest magazine and started idly flipping through the pages. It was one of those magazines meant for suburban housewives but only ever read in waiting rooms.

He looked at his watch. It was 9:34. His appointment was for 9:30. He sighed and went back to looking at the magazine. Then he looked back at his watch. Not even a minute had gone by. He sighed again, louder this time, and sank in the chair a little. But that pulled on some of his still healing wounds, so he sat back in his original position and leaned his head back. He'd never been a particularly patient individual, and on this occasion he was even more antsy than usual.

"He's ready for you."

Dean looked up. The receptionist was looking at him, a small smile on her face. Dean looked at her a moment before registering what she'd said. "Oh! Me?"

She nodded, choosing to ignore the fact that Dean was the only one in the lobby. "His door is the third one on the left."

Dean thanked her and walked down the hallway to the office and knocked on the wooden door.

"Come on in," called a voice.

Dean opened the door.

"You must be Dean Hanson. Why don't you come have a seat? And close the door behind you."

Dean nodded, closing the door quietly and settling himself into the chair. The man reached a hand across the desk.

"My name is James Cassidy," he said. Dean shook his outstretched hand, then sat back in the chair.

Cassidy was young, not much older than himself. He had that look about him that psychiatrists tended to have-kind and understanding and neat. But there was something else, something deep in his eyes that Dean recognized.

It was the same look he saw every time he looked in the mirror, the look of people who had seen too much, who knew just what kinds of monsters were out there in the world.

"Cassidy, huh?" Dean said. "Can I call you Cas?"

Cassidy smiled a little. "Sure. Call me whatever you want. That's certainly not the worst nickname anyone's given me." He folded his hands in front of him on the desk. "Why are you here, Dean?"

"Honestly?"

"That would probably be best."

Dean shrugged. "I'm just here to get that piece of paper signed so I can get back to work. No offense but, uh, I'm not really the talk-my-feelings-out type. So I'd appreciate it if you could just sign it and let me go."

"I can't do that, Dean. You know that as well as I do. I want you to go back to work too, but what _I_ want is to make sure you're well mentally and emotionally before you get back out there. If we work together, we can both get what we want."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This guy was just like every other shrink he'd ever been to. Except all the other times, Dean was fine. This time, he really was having trouble, and he knew it. But this man wasn't going to be able to help him.

"You think I won't be able to help you," Cas said, as if reading Dean's mind. Dean looked at him, startled.

"What makes you say that?"

"I've been doing this a few years. I can tell. I'm here to tell you that I will do my absolute best to help you. If you don't at least try, I'm never going to be able to sign that paper, and then what?"

Dean looked down. He wasn't sure he liked this guy. Or maybe he just didn't like that fact that he could see right through him.

"Fine. How does this go? You ask me about my feelings, I unload on you, cry it out, we hug and it's good?"

Cas smiled. "If that's how you want it to go," he said, taking Dean's sarcasm in stride. "It's our first appointment together. We can talk about whatever you want. There's certainly a lot of things we could choose from."

Dean wondered briefly what that meant, then decided he didn't really care. "I'll tell you what I want to talk about. I want to talk about you. What's your story, huh? How did you end up getting stuck with this?"

Cas chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "No, no, this is about you. It's to help you, not me."

"If you wanna help me, I gotta get to know you. I can't just sit here and talk to someone that doesn't have any experience with the darker parts of life."

Dean watched him to gauge any reaction he might have, but Cas didn't respond to the not-so-subtle nudge, just gazed at Dean with a curious look on his face.

"You're observant," he finally said. "What do you wanna know?"

Dean tried not to show how satisfied he was that he'd managed to crack the shrink. "What is it that happened that puts that look in your eyes? Did you have daddy problems growing up? Lose someone close to you? Get picked on in junior high? What?"

Cas looked at him, chewing on his bottom lip, then spoke. "I was in Afghanistan as an army doctor. I did the same thing there that I do now. The soldiers I worked with were mostly greenhorns, just kids really. It was pretty rough out there, you know? Then, one day, I decided to go out with some of the guys and…we got ambushed. I was the only one of us to get out alive, and even then I took a bullet to the shoulder and nearly died of a collapsed lung. The wound didn't heal quite right and…well, they told me I was done. I was in a dark place for a long time. When I finally got myself out of there, I decided to go back to work as a psychiatrist. Figured since I'd been at the bottom and got back to the top, I'd be able to help others do the same. That accounts for the look in my eyes."

Dean didn't answer, just sat in silence. Maybe Cas _could_ help him. He was honest and up-front, and he certainly had experience with the tougher things. Cas didn't press as Dean wrestled with his thoughts. Did he really want to open up to this man that he'd just met?

Finally, Dean looked up at him, his decision made. He took a deep breath. "Did you have nightmares?"

XXX

"Fuller. Chief wants to see you."

Sam looked up. "Okay. Thanks."

"Now."

Sam heaved a sigh, pushing himself up and walking to Hardy's office. He thought he knew why the chief wanted to see him, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

"Chief? You wanted to see me?"

Hardy looked up from his newspaper. "Fuller. Come in. Close the door behind you."

Sam did.

"Do you know why I wanted to see you?" Hardy asked.

"I think I might have an idea."

"Good. Then this'll be easy. Bryant is going to be your new partner until Hanson's cleared for duty."

Sam let out a breath of relief. "Yes, sir. Sounds good." He turned to leave.

"Wait. We're not done here, Fuller," Hardy said.

_Great. Here it comes._

"You remember when I said we'd talk about it later? It's later. In fact, it has been for awhile. So it's time to talk."

Sam groaned. "Look, Chief, I'm-"

Hardy cut him off. "Shut up and listen, Fuller. I know this one was personal. And he made it that way on purpose. You had a right to be pissed, hell, maybe you even had a right to pop him one. But you nearly beat a man to death, and that will not fly. You hear me? I ought to give you a slap on the wrist, hell, I ought to have you working a desk job for the next six months, but given the circumstances, I'll cut you some slack this time. But if you _ever_ pull that kind of bullshit again, you'll be out the door so fast your head'll spin. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

"For what it's worth, I probably would have done the same thing," Hardy called.

Sam paused in the doorway. He knew Hardy probably wasn't expecting a reply, so he just looked back at him, gave him a nod, then went on his way.

"Hey, looks like we've got a case," Bryant said, meeting him in the hall with a coffee in each hand. He gave one to Sam.

"Thanks," Sam said. He did appreciate how hard Bryant was trying, but it was hard. He gave him a tight smile. "You drive. I've got to make a phone call."

Bryant knew exactly who it was Sam needed to call, but didn't comment on it, silently getting into the driver's seat. He drummed the steering wheel as he waited for Sam to get in the car.

Sam slid into the car, waiting for him to pick up.

"Hey, Sammy. What's up?"

"Hey Dean! How'd it go? How was the shrink? Is it helping? Will you be back soon? How are you doing?" Sam asked, shooting questions at him rapid-fire.

"Whoa there, cowboy," Dean said, and Sam had to smile. Dean hadn't called him 'cowboy' since Sam was a rookie. He took it as a good sign. "It, uh…it actually went really well, Sam. This guy…he's different. Nothing like the other shrinks they've forced on me. I think maybe the whole talking it out thing is actually helping. Shrink says that if sessions keep going like this, I'll be cleared for duty before long. And I went in for a check-up and the doctor said everything's healing right, so I should be good to go on the physical aspect, too. I'll be back before you know it. I imagine Chief's partnered you with someone by now."

Sam grinned. "That's great, Dean! Yeah, I'm, uh, actually with Bryant."

Dean snorted. "Bryant? Like, Bryant with the stick up his ass Bryant?"

Bryant shot a sour look in Sam's direction and Sam shrugged apologetically. "Yeah, that's the one. He's, uh, right here if you wanna say hello."

Bryant shook his head profusely the same instant Dean responded with a solid and resounding "NO."

Sam chuckled. Yup. Dean was still as Dean as ever. "Hey, I gotta go. I miss you buddy. You should come by this evening. I'd even watch that crap show you're addicted to."

"Hey," Dean said, sounding genuinely offended. "Doctor Sexy, M.D. is _not_ a crap show and I am _not_ addicted to it. I don't go around mocking the show you watch! You're such a bitch."

Sam laughed again. "Whatever. I've really gotta go now, jerk. Call me later."

"I will, Sammy. And, uh…thanks for calling," he ended awkwardly before the line went dead.

Sam smiled a second at his phone, then shook his head, shoving his phone into his pocket. Bryant was watching him.

"What?" Sam asked.

Bryant quickly looked away. "Nothing! Just…you two have quite the relationship, huh?"

Sam shrugged. "He's like a brother to me. After Jess...He was a big help. We got close after that, have been ever since."

"Must be great to have someone you can rely on for anything like that."

This gave Sam pause. He'd never really realized just how lucky he truly was. It was a fact he'd be sure not to take for granted in the future. "Yeah. It is."

XXX_fin_XXX

**Sorry it took so long. Things have been hectic, what with my G-pa's 80****th**** birthday bash. Also, if you wanted more-don't fret! I may write more stories in the same AU.**

**Reviews definitely help prompt me to write more. If you catch my drift (though I'm not sure how you couldn't since I kind of shoved said drift down your throats).**

**And thanks so much for the support so far!**


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